


Invisible

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, One Shot, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Request: Pls do some Jon Snow fluffYou felt like Jon never noticed you. You were always too shy to express your feelings until you see Jon talking to a Night's Watch brother. Now, you have to confess your feelings before its too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Please enjoy this fluffy fic! If you would like to see more of my Jon Snow work or any other Game of Thrones work, please visit my tumblr ( https://crowkingwrites.tumblr.com/ )
> 
> Have fun!
> 
> Music: Céline Dion - How Does A Moment Last Forever (From "Beauty and the Beast") (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsKKuCUYUMU )

There are many truths in this world. One, snowy mornings inside castles are romantic and dreamlike. Two, freshly made steamed milk with chocolate inside is a perfect pairing with snowy mornings inside castles. Three, bastards swinging swords around at other men was a perfect thing to watch while drinking hot chocolate on a snowy morning inside a castle.

Your wide eyes almost couldn’t blink at the sight of him. You heard the clanging and clinking of metal against each other. Yes, most of the girls at the window gawked at Robb Stark. He was nice. He was tall. He had decent hair.

He wasn’t Jon. 

You had been watching Jon for a while now. You couldn’t admit it to the other girls, but Jon was a far better swordsman than his older brother. The way he defended himself, and then quickly recovered to parry. The way he kept himself a small target, or how he always managed to knock Robb down.

“He’s going to beat him this time,’ a girl whispered to another girl, but you knew better. Two days ago, Jon practiced a new move that could quickly take down any enemy. You took a sip of your warm drink and waited. Robb lunged forward at Jon. Jon responded by doing his new move. He took Robb’s sword, twisted it around, and formed an ‘X’ at Robb’s neck. 

A collective groan came from the group of three girls at the window. All, except you. You smiled down at your favorite Stark. Robb laughed out loud at his brother’s accomplishment. Jon dropped the swords, and helped him up.

“You always beat me,” Robb commented.

“I have to,” Jon said, looking up. “We have an audience.” The three girls squealed and jumped back. You stood in place. You wanted Jon to see you, but he didn’t nod your way or anything. Jon only walked away.

“I know you’re up there girls,” Robb shouted. The three other girls squealed and giggled again. This time, they ran off to another part of the castle away from the handsome wolf. You walked away from the scene, frowning.

Another day, you hid behind a door while you watched Jon speak to a brother from the Night’s Watch. You felt your stomach drop. He couldn’t be possibly thinking about joining them? If he did, he would be gone forever. You would never see him again. You had to say something to him. 

At first, you thought telling him would do it. You practiced in front of a darkly-haired broom over and over again. You mustered up the courage and marched right into the same room as him. He leaned against a table speaking to Theon. You took a deep breath and you started to walk towards him until your dress snagged onto something rusty on the floor. You tripped and fell onto the ground.

You heard several footsteps around you.

“Are you alright?” you heard Jon’s voice. You looked up and saw Jon’s hand extended to you. You gasped and covered your mouth before you could say anything stupid. You took off.

Writing it down. Yes. Writing a note required no speaking. Ink and paper had always been your friend. The words and feelings weaved together and poured onto the paper. You read it over, and you knew this was it. You folded the paper neatly as you could. 

Jon and Robb watched over Bran as he practiced archery in the courtyard. As you approached them, your boots crunched down the snow. This was it. You would give him your confession, and he would know how you truly felt. You felt the wind pick up and it tickled your nose. It itched and triggered you to sneeze causing you to drop the note. The wind picked up again, and the note took off with it. 

“No!” you screamed. A lot of people in the courtyard turned to you to see what was going on. You covered your mouth again. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you ran off again. Needless to say, Jon did not get your note. 

Gifts. People like gifts especially handmade ones. Sewing was not your strongest suit, but baking was. You knew Robb and Sansa had particular sweet tooths. Jon could have a sweet tooth as well. You snuck into the kitchen at night and started to bake Jon a sweet apple pie. You smelled the apples as you chopped them up. 

As you added cinnamon and sugar to them, it smelled even better. It smelled so good, you started to hum to yourself. All of the northern songs of love came to your mind. Tales of true love and unrequited love came through your mind and voice.

You slipped the pie into the oven, proud of your handiwork. You leaned against the counter and smiled. This time would be it. ‘Luck came in threes’ you told yourself. Twice you were spoiled. This third time would not fail you. 

“So that was you singing wasn’t it?” Jon asked. You turned sharply, almost falling to the ground again. Jon Snow stood in the doorway in a thick tunic and pants. His fingers played with each other. 

“What?”

“That was you,” Jon said again. “I heard humming down the hallway. I didn’t see anyone else. I assumed it was you.”  
No. No. No. Not now. The pie wasn’t even finished yet. You just put it in there. This was not happening. This can’t be happening. Why? Why now?

“Yes, it’s me,” you managed to say. 

“It was very lovely,” Jon stepped into the kitchen. “Are you baking something?” You nodded your head. A pause grew between you two like grass in the summer, slow and not worthy of watching. 

Jon broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me what you’re baking?”

“Oh!” you snapped out of it. “A pie. A sweet apple pie.”

“Seriously?” Jon inquired. “That sounds wonderful. Would you mind if I had some when it is finished?” You nodded your head. Heat rose to your cheeks again. Standing this close to him was unbearable. 

“You may,” you turned away from him, hoping he couldn’t see you.

“Have I said something to offend you?” Jon asked. You shook your head.

“No, you have not.” You let the silence build up again between the two of you. What were you supposed to say? He was right behind you. You could tell him. You could let out all of those feelings and he would know. All you had to do is open your mouth and—

“I notice you,” Jon confessed. You turned to face him. He was fiddling with his fingers. “When you’re at the window with the other girls. When you fell the other day, and when you walked across the courtyard. I see you.”

You let your arms fall to your sides.

“I mean, at first, I would just glance at you,” Jon continued. “Then, I started to see you everywhere. Not that I minded, I only meant that I wanted to see you everywhere. You’re so quiet and gentle. Robb can have his group of girls, loud and giggling.” 

Jon stepped towards you. His fingers outreached to you. “I only wish to be near you.” 

“You feel that way about me?” you doubted him. It felt like this moment shouldn’t be happening. It was too good to be true. Jon tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not as invisible as you think,” he told you. You looked into his brown eyes and saw exactly what you wanted to see: truth. Jon would never lie to anyone, especially you. Your fingers entangled with his. You didn’t need the pie anymore. 

“What am I then?” you asked softly. Jon smiled, letting your anxious fingers dominate his.

“You are mine, if you’ll have me?” He asked you, already knowing the answer. You let go of Jon’s fingers and embraced him. He smelled of the woods and pine. 

“I’m yours,” you said. Jon held you tighter. His arms wrapped around your waist, and yours around his neck. The pie burnt in the oven, but who needed pie when you had what you always wanted?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic Request: Can you do a sequel to invisible where Jon takes back Winterfell and you’re still there and you two fall back in love where things left off you get married and have a child?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning to make a part two for this, but it was requested.

The day had begun with a sense of dread. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, barked orders left and right. Soldiers and many men from northern families had begun forming and leaving Winterfell. Although you saw Ramsay’s blue eyes, you could only think of how black they were. 

The minute he left you felt nothing but relief as you ignored your chores for the rest of the day, and took as many elders and children as you could down to the dungeons where they could stay safe. Others had done the same, and they all waited with bated breath in the warming dungeons.

You glanced at Ned Stark’s grave, and your mind went to Jon and Sansa. Sansa was always particularly kind to you, but you had done nothing to help her. You stood by and watched Ramsay play his games with her out of fear that he would play games with you too or worse. 

Ever since Jon left for the Wall, you’ve heard nothing from him. He was every bit like his father. Loyal, true, and faithful to his vows. He hadn’t written a single word to you since he became a man of the Night’s Watch. 

At first, you thought maybe he was busy training and fighting north of the wall. Then weeks past, and then months past. You didn’t know exactly when your heart broke, but when you saw the Stark banners fall and the Bolton banners hung and flew in the wind you figured that this was your life now.

You have sailed through most of your life being the quiet one in the corner. For a few moments, Jon had brought light into it, but like everyone else in your life, he left. He left of his own choosing. He left Winterfell. He left his family. He left you. You couldn’t blame him. Doing a noble thing such as taking the black was the best for him as a bastard. 

You heard a couple of horses and men come back to Winterfell. You listened to one young man giving reports to everyone else in dungeon.

“He’s back, but only with a few men.”

“A giant has opened the gate! There’s a giant here!”

“Jon’s here!” You felt your heart slowing. He was here. He made it through alive and he was fighting Ramsay. 

“He’s punching him! Ramsay’s been defeated!” you heard the overall cheer and the people exiting the dungeons. You watched the Bolton banners fall and the Stark banner rise once again. It felt too unreal. After dealing with someone as vicious as Ramsay, it didn’t feel real that he was gone. His spirit still lingered the halls.

One night you woke in a sweat. Your pillow was drenched in it. You needed to get up. You needed to do something to get him out of your head. You went to the one place that always brought you comfort: the kitchen. You took out ingredients to make something simple and then you heard something behind you.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Jon greeted you. “I knew I would find you here.” You continued to cook, ignoring him. Jon’s eyebrows knitted out of concern. He stepped into the kitchen more where your hand were warming by the oven.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asked as his head tilted. 

“No,” you said.

“No?”

“You cannot just walk back into my life as if you never left. You can’t just talk to me and say hello like we are old friends.”

“We are old friends.”

“You know we were much more than that,” you said coldly. Jon stepped back, realizing what your words meant.

“Y/N—

“No,” you said again. 

“What do you want me to say then?” Jon asked you. You could feel your blood boiling over.

“That you made a mistake. That you should have stayed here.”

“There was nothing for me here!”

“You had me!” you shouted right back. “I was yours. Wasn’t that enough?” Jon hesitated and you left the kitchen. You stomped all the way back to your room and covered yourself in blankets, hoping no one could hear you cry out of anger. 

The next time you saw Jon was a couple of days later when he was discussing something with Sansa. You watched him and no longer saw the Jon you once knew. Long ago, you saw Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, with black curls, an innocent smile, and a thirst to prove himself.

This Jon tied his hair back, his eyes had seen more than just the dead, and the way he walked and stood was more like a King, not a bastard. He had changed. 

Where there was doubt and fear, there was now experience and coldness. You had changed too. Everything from how you saw people to your body. Both of you were grown. 

Maybe you were too harsh on him. Maybe you both had grown apart.

Another sleepless night landed you back in the kitchens. This time you decided to make yourself something savory. Something with potatoes. You gathered your ingredients and started cooking. A familiar face showed up in the doorway.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Jon nodded. “Is it alright if I come in?” You nodded your head and continued cooking. At first, there was a still silence between both of you. The night’s cold winds blew between the cracks of the closed windows. Jon kept composed, and you kept mixing potatoes with butter.

You supposed your earlier thoughts were correct. Growing apart was common among old lovers. You shouldn’t be mad with him. You should be mad with the natural order of things. 

“I suppose you’re still angry with me,” Jon began. You shook your head. “Then what is it?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“About what?” Jon walked closer to you and sat down across the table. You sighed, hoping you could get the words out correctly.

“I shouldn’t be mad with you. I was wrong to be angry with you. Well, I mean, I am still angry, but I guess I should’ve known better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I should’ve known you wouldn’t be here for long that what we had meant more to me than it did to you,” the words felt like knives stabbing him. Jon became visibly upset. He almost slammed his fist down on the table, but at the last moment his fist turned into a palm that laid flat on the table.

“I suppose you’re somewhat right,” Jon confessed. You looked down at the potatoes thinking that if you looked at them long enough, you wouldn’t cry. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“How do I know you care?” you asked. “How do I know you won’t leave me?” Jon stood up and walked over to you. He held his hands out to you. You refused to touch him at first, but the longer he kept his hands out, the more guilt you felt leaving him there.

Your dirty, oily hands took his clean ones. You breathed in and out, hoping for a satisfying answer.

“I care,” Jon’s forehead touched yours. “I care more about you than anyone else here. Every minute I missed you, I thought of your smiling face. I wished for your warmth on the coldest nights. Every day since I made my vows to the Night’s Watch, I have spent them fighting. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, inhaling him. He smelled of the North. He smelled like home.

“I fought every day to get back to here. To home and to you,” Jon chuckled. “You have given me every reason to keep going. I have seen old Nan’s tales come to life. I have fought nightmares. And I would do it all over again if it meant I could have you.”

You let the silence fall between you again. Sometimes Jon and you didn’t need words. Sometimes the quiet beating of your hearts, the snow falling, and the easy breathing between you two said it all. Your lips met his with a gentle touch. Jon wrapped his arms around you and you felt your heart swelling.

Jon kissed you gently as he could, but you knew he was holding back. You kissed him harder and he met your enthusiasm with his own. Both of you folded into each other and let the world fall around you. Nothing else mattered. 

Jon separated from you first, his forehead still touching yours. “I don’t need the North. I have you.” You smiled, trying to hold back the happy tears.

“You always had me, Jon.”

Months later, you held your newly born son in your lap. His cheeks were already reddened by the cold. His hands so tiny that when they wrapped around your finger, you fell in love again. He had dark hair like his father, but he had your e/c eyes. You heard a small commotion outside your door.

“Where is he? Did I miss it?” Jon frantically ran into the room. His eyes saw your small bundle of joy in your arms. You had to laugh. Jon’s hair was wild. His clothes were half-buttoned. He looked like a mess. He looked like a father.

“Would you like to meet him?” you asked him. Jon slowly walked over to you and laid next to you in the bed. 

“He’s beautiful,” Jon smiled, cradling his new child. He kissed you on the cheek. “You did so well. You did wonderfully.”

“I love him,” you leaned your head onto Jon’s shoulder. Both of you falling into another silent moment as your fingers played with your son’s. He was wonderful. His eye opened slightly to look at his father’s and then he fell back into a slumber. Your quiet little family, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
